


The Suspicious Disappearance of James Mill

by Naia101



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: (later on), Angst, C. C. Tinsley & Ricky Goldsworth, C.C. is a corrupt PI, Gore, Lots of Angst, No one has morals, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ricky is an assassin, because I don't wanna write smut or romance oof, platonic friendship, rated mature for gore I guess idk, tinsley has a snake, working together to do a murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 21:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naia101/pseuds/Naia101
Summary: The Detective went about pouring himself a scotch, grimacing as the unfamiliar brand hit his tongue.“I keep telling you, just because a brand is expensive does not mean that it’s good.”Ricky made a face.“Just because you drink shit doesn’t mean I have to.”The Detective laughed.“I should tell you the details of the job since you wouldn’t listen to Horsley, but I doubt you’ll even remember tomorrow.”An indignant sound escaped the man on the bed as he tried and failed to flip Tinsley off.“Alright, alright, but you’ll see that I’m right in the morning. A contact in the force performed a disappearing act, and he left before delivering his final report. So, it’s my job to find the guy and yours to get the information and make sure he keeps quiet.”After the disappearance of James Mill, a rat within the police force, a corrupt, tired detective is hired to sniff him out along with the most unpredictable but effective assassin tasked with extracting one final report and ensuring silence. What appeared to be just another job drags the past up to show new scars in the sunlight, leaving a trail off bodies and broken hearts behind it.





	The Suspicious Disappearance of James Mill

“Is that them?”

** **

It was the first time that the young lady had been to an event of this magnitude. It was something to do with some charity, but she found it hard to believe that such a gross display of incredible wealth and luxury would do the object of the charity any good. The room alone was vast, with golden décor or expensive looking paintings coating every inch of its walls. Rounded tables lined the glazed wood floor and the stage at the head of the hall stood tall and domineering, with a podium drowning in red fabric. Someone had given Captain Norris a tip that the Gala, while being a gathering of seemingly all of high society, was also hosting to some of the big names involved in organised crime and their affiliates. 

** **

Francesca nodded, looking away from her and smiling at someone walking past. 

** **

“Well... We should bring them in, shouldn’t we?” 

** **

Norris sighed and shook her head.

** **

“There’s no crime actually being committed, and we have no evidence to support an active case. Besides, even if there was, I’ve never been able to find more than circumstantial on either of them.” She grit her teeth and then let out a long breath. “We’re only here following up on a tip. If we happen to hear anything useful, well, that’s all the better for us.”

** **

The younger woman nodded solemnly and took a sweeping glance over the room, but her gaze wound up back at the pair seated near the base of the stage. 

** **

Both were easily distinguishable based on what she’d been told. One of the men was tall and lean, with a mess of hair and an easy smile resting on his face. It was hard to believe the awful things that she had been told he’d done when his expression, even from this distance, was so good natured. The other one, however, radiated irritation. His body was hunched and his face rested on one hand in a gesture that demonstrated that he was obviously bored out of his mind, as his fingers tapped irregularly on the table. She must have been staring because his eyes moved up to meet hers and he shot her a hostile glare. Jerking her head to the side, she broke eye contact and prayed that he would forget about her. 

** **

Fairly soon after, one of the event organisers climbed up onto the stage and began a long, drawling speech about whatever charity they were supporting. Beside her, Captain Norris somehow managed to seem interested and engaged, despite how profoundly uninteresting the speech was. It seemed to last for an eternity, and she had begun nod off to sleep when Captain Norris jabbed her sharply in the ribs, jolting her back into disoriented wakefulness.

** **

A feeling of disappointment grew heavier and heavier as the evening wore on, uneventful. Not only had they not seen or heard anything useful, but it had been an almighty and terribly boring waste of time. She stood, dusting herself off, and failed in stifling a yawn. Behind her, someone tapped lightly on her shoulder and she whipped around, willing the yawn to cease so that she could open her eyes. 

** **

“Hello miss, how are you?” 

** **

The voice was smooth and confident, and finally she was able to see to whom it belonged, only to draw back in shock.

** **

The man in front of her towered as menacingly as one can with such a politely cheerful expression. 

** **

“Oh my goodness! I-I uh… I mean- hello!” 

** **

She took the hand extended to her and shook it weakly.

** **

For a few seconds, there was silence as she processed what exactly she was supposed to say.

** **

“Oh, please excuse my manners, my name is Detective C. C. Tinsley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He gave a small nod. “And you are…?”

** **

She stumbled, flustered. “I-uh I’m Delilah Richardson! It’s, uh… It’s nice to meet you too…”

** **

She trailed off, debating whether or not it was indeed nice to meet him as she caught the eye of Captain Norris a few meters away. She flicked her gaze between Delilah and Tinsley and raised her eyebrows. The message was obvious. 

** **

_ This could be our chance _

** **

Sucking in a breath, Delilah brought her eyes back to the tall man in front of her. No pressure or anything. 

** **

“So… What brings you here anyway?”

** **

Inside her head, every nerve was screaming that she was wearing the word ‘cop’ engraved on her forehead. 

** **

“Just supporting a cause I believe in, and to catch up with some old friends. Another thing, Miss…?

** **

Delilah nodded.

** **

“Miss Richardson. My friend tells me that you were staring at us before the show started, and naturally I assumed that you had something that you wanted to speak to us about?”

** **

Dread dropped down her spine like ice water.

** **

“O-Oh n-no! I just- well, I’d swear by my life that I’d seen you before, but now, uh, seeing you up close, I know that there’s no way, I must have just mistaken you for someone else! Sorry, Detective!” 

** **

Tinsley smiled reassuringly. 

** **

“Hey, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I just know that my friend can be rather intimidating, and I’d feel awful if he had scared away some important company.”

** **

As Delilah was beginning to relax, another man was stumbling over. Somehow, she doubted that this one would be nearly as pleasant to deal with. 

** **

“Hey! Hey, Tinman! Where’d you go, I needed intelligent conversation!”

** **

He shot a dirty look at a group of men behind him.

** **

“Plus they, uh, I’ve been banned from the free drinks.”

** **

He grabbed hold of the Detective’s arm to steady himself, eyes swivelling around to see who he had been talking to when his face dropped and hardened.

** **

“Hey… You’re… You’re that- That girl! You were staring at me earlier, what do you want? You got a problem?”

** **

Tinsley rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the shorter man.

** **

“That is precisely what I was just asking her. She simply thought she recognised us, but was mistaken. More importantly, you should at least introduce yourself before being rude.”

** **

The shorter man made a face which suggested that he would far rather drink himself to death than introduce himself, but after a minute he straightened himself (as much as he physically could) and murmured more to himself than to Delilah.

** **

“Ricardo. Goldsworth.” 

** **

The Detective sighed.

** **

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? I’ve told you that just because you’re bored does not mean that you can incapacitate yourself. I apologise for his state, I hope he didn’t frighten you too much.”

** **

Another smile. 

** **

It- uh, it’s fine. So, you said you were here to see some old friends, who did you mean?”

** **

She heard the Detective chuckle as she glanced around the room, and when she turned back, Tinsley had gotten close enough to speak low into her ear as he walked past towards the door.

** **

“I’m very sorry, Officer Richardson, but this is not a police station, and discretion is an advantage of my friendship.”

** **

He called back as he continued to walk away.

** **

“Though it was lovely to meet you.” 

** **

As they left the hall, he was practically dragging Goldsworth behind him. 

** **

Letting out a sigh, Delilah turned to see that Captain Norris was staring at her expectantly. She gave a small shake of her head and Norris frowned for a split second, before tossing her brown curls behind her shoulder and excusing herself from the group conversation she was in with a smile. 

** **

“Did you get anything from the conversation?”

** **

Delilah lowered her eyes.

** **

“No I… Well, all he said was that they were catching up with old friends. He wouldn’t name them and I’m… Pretty sure he knew I was on the force from the start, so who even knows if that’s true.”

** **

“You didn’t talk to Ricardo? He looked like he could barely stand, I’m sure he would have let something slip?”

** **

Delilah hung her head.

** **

“I didn’t know he was drunk until he came over to talk to Tinsley, and I’m sure he would have stopped anything getting out. I’m sorry Sir…”

** **

Norris let out an exhausted breath.

** **

“This is a long shot, but he didn’t tell you his first name, did he?”

** **

The younger woman looked confused.

** **

“What? Uh… No, why?”

** **

The Captain gave a small nod. 

** **

“I didn’t think so. No one knows his real first name. He has so many aliases and is on our system under several, somehow. Not that we can prove any tampering took place but he has friends in high places. I suppose that comes with benefits.”

** **

The two women took one last look around the predominantly empty room and began walking towards the door, the biting feeling of failure squirming in their guts with every step taken. 

** **

\-----------------------------------------

** **

It hadn’t been long until Ricky had fallen asleep, leaving Tinsley to drive him home. He could have sat lecturing him the whole journey about how dangerous getting completely pissed was, especially considering that the police had shown up. Still, Horsely had needed to speak to him about another missing person who needed finding, so there was no avoiding it. He and Ricky had become one exceedingly

useful single unit for cases such as these. It saved from seeking out both a discreet investigation service and an apt removal of certain individuals. Where usually those in these professions would steer clear of each other, Ricky and Tinsley had found that, for merely the price of some moral compromise, the arrangement benefitted them both. Plus it made it harder to trace back to the client since Horsely could give them both their jobs at once, rather than recruiting them through separate channels. 

** **

By the time they had reached Ricky’s apartment building, the summer heat had long gone stone cold and a light rain had begun to fall. Considering the generous size of the inheritance and insurance money that he had wracked up, why he still chose a run-down old apartment building was beyond the Detective, but granted he didn’t spend a huge amount of time in it while he was out gambling, or doing whatever else caught his fancy. There were few who had tried to limit what he did and when, and of those even fewer who lived to tell the tale.

** **

Tinsley essentially carried the other man up the front steps and into the elevator, pressing the button for the 5th floor without looking and began digging around in Ricky’s pockets for his house key. By the time they had reached his floor, Tinsley had found them and pressed them into the lock while holding up the other man, who had only just begun to wake up. 

** **

“The fuck…? I didn’t… Didn’t need you, I could have gotten back home-” 

** **

He punctuated this by promptly falling back against the taller man.

** **

“Sure, and I’m sure you could have driven if you can barely stand. How did it even take this much for them to stop you?”

** **

Ricky tried to look up and grin, but only got halfway before his face took on a green hue and he was forced to lower his eyes to the floor again. 

** **

The Detective simply rolled his eyes as he pictured Ricky throwing glass after glass down his throat and practically snarling at anyone to try and approach him. Not for the last time, he wondered why on earth he bothered, but thought to keep those musings to himself as he threw the shorter man onto the bed. 

** **

He struggled to get up for a second, but eventually resigned himself to a horizontal position, watching Tinsley as he lay on his side. Meanwhile the Detective went about pouring himself a scotch, grimacing as the unfamiliar brand hit his tongue. 

** **

“I keep telling you, just because a brand is expensive does not mean that it’s good.”

** **

Ricky made a face.

** **

“Just because you drink shit doesn’t mean I have to.”

** **

The Detective laughed.

** **

“I should tell you the details of the job since you wouldn’t listen to Horsley, but I doubt you’ll even remember tomorrow.”

** **

An indignant sound escaped the man on the bed as he tried and failed to flip Tinsley off.

** **

“Alright, alright, but you’ll see that I’m right in the morning. A contact in the force performed a disappearing act, and he left before delivering his final report. So, it’s my job to find the guy and yours to get the information and make sure he keeps quiet.”

** **

By the time he finished, quiet snores could be heard from Ricky. Shaking his head, the Detective threw back the dregs of his glass and placed it neatly on the table. In the quiet of the building, at least as quiet as an apartment block next to a busy road could be, he took a short look around. The apartment had only 3 rooms, a joint kitchen and front room, a bathroom and one single bedroom; it was an amalgamation of peeling wallpaper, worn, ugly furniture and a thin coat of cigarette smoke that covered every inch and yellowed the ceiling. Considering what his arrangements had been 10 years prior, Tinsley was shocked that he could even stand to live this way. But then, the stark difference may have been the whole point. 

** **

Quietly, he made his way out of the building and lit up a cigarette. It was still raining and the wind had picked up, which chilled the night air. The nicotine warmed his insides as he hesitated to take a deep breath of smoke and, drawing coat closer, he made his way back to the car. As he drove away, he flicked the last of the cigarette out of the window and set off for home.

** **

\---------------------------------------

** **

The sun cut through blinds as the dawn’s fingers had begun to stretch over the horizon. Tinsley cracked open his eyes and blinked in the light, before rolling over away from it. A long-suffering groan escaped him as wakefulness crept into his head, despite his best efforts to drive it out. He brought a hand up to rub his eyes and reached out blearily for his glasses on the dresser. Reaching down to where his trousers from yesterday had been abandoned in a pile on the floor next to the bed, the Detective felt around in each pocket and finally found the scrap piece of paper where he had scrawled some basic details about the cases; names, addresses, workplace, etc. 

** **

A heaviness had settled in his bones as he pulled himself out of bed. The knowledge that he was facing a day of researching hundreds of possible leads sat in his head like the seeds of a migraine that would wreck him later on. As he shuffled towards the kitchen, he tapped on the glass of a terrarium sitting on a dresser. 

** **

From inside a log-shaped hide slid a pale ball python. She was white with the smallest hint of patterning, but it was hidden below a mass of scarring on her back. When Tinsley had first seen her in the home of one of the missing persons that had been suitably taken care of, she had been so thin that he could practically see each vertebrae in her spine, and she was covered in ragged, scabbed skin from rat bites that had clearly healed over and been torn open again too many times to count. After he had taken her to a vet, it turned out that she was quite old for a snake, although they could not pinpoint exactly, as her eyes were beginning to turn milky with cataracts. The recovery was a slow and difficult process, but he had found himself strangely endeared with the abused ball python, naming her Atalanta after the Greek heroine who was neglected to die, but survived despite all odds.

** **

Setting a pot of coffee to brew, he absentmindedly glanced at his phone, seeing a myriad of messages from Ricky, of which one or two of those were probably from last night and all of the others from that morning. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw three messages speaking some nonsense about the ghosts that he was certain had made it unbearably hot in his apartment and several more that demanded (with considerably better spelling) that Tinsley should forget about all the nonsense he had been spewing because, of course, ghosts don’t make places  _ warmer _ , they make them  _ colder _ ; besides, he had asked several psychics and investigators to search his home and they had found no evidence of activity. These texts somehow descended into a rant about what “bullshit” it was that the Detective didn’t believe in ghosts and demons, because there was masses of scientific (Tinsley scowled) evidence to support their existence. 

** **

By the time he had finished reading and thoroughly decided that he would take the initial message’s request and ignore everything sent, the coffee was done. The bitterness helped blast the cobwebs from the gears in his head and he carried both the mug and the pot over to his desk where his laptop was. For any investigations, a PI’s best friend was social media. A quick search for the name James Mill and a gold mine of information popped up in neatly arranged webpages like files in a cabinet. It was especially easy since he was looking for a cop, since out of the 307 matches for a James Mill on Facebook, very few included a profile picture of a man in full uniform on proud display. Tinsley rolled his eyes and took another swig of coffee, clicking through the pages of public posts and making note of connections by pinning them to his corkboard, printing out pictures of James to sit in the centre, surrounded by photos of his wife, parents, siblings and child, each with a few basic descriptions on them. This was followed by close friends and places he frequented, and before long Tinsley had a good grasp of the man’s schedule. He worked on weekdays from nine to five, going to the gym for an hour before work every day and getting home at about half past 5; except on Tuesdays, when he would pick his kid up from his parents’ house and take him to Scouts, Thursdays, when he would go to the swimming pool, and Fridays, when he and his friends on the force would go out drinking. More interestingly, every Saturday, he would head to a poker night at one of his friends’ homes, the order of which had a specific rota. All of it was so pristinely normal that no one would suspect him of being a rat, until it came to light and all of a sudden everyone who had been close to him was whispering that “of course he had to be” and that they “had always known something had been up”. Tinsley was always impressed by how quickly people would turn on those that they had once called friends at the drop of a feather.

** **

After a good few hours and several cups of coffee, Tinsley cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms upwards. Now, things would get slightly more interesting. This was all he could learn from public posts, and it was time to set the software, that had not been cheap (the money-grubbing bastard), into action to hack into his accounts to read through all of his private messages. It also allowed him to access email, search history, and his google drive, which contained mostly work-related notes and reports, though there was, to Tinsley’s surprise, a few attempts at writing what looked to be short fictional stories. 

** **

Rats didn’t work for nothing, there had to be something somewhere that he gained from some vague service masquerading as a legal transaction. He scanned the recently deleted emails on the account, looking for any kind of suspicious payment, but nothing was turned up. Frowning, he went about starting to break into the target’s bank account. It was surprisingly easy, giving him a list of all transactions made in the last 6 months. 

** **

Nothing seemed to be out of order, except a payment in every Saturday evening, or sometimes Sunday morning. The amount seemed to be random each time, as if he had simply won it from his friends during their poker games, but something about it sat wrong with Tinsley. He took out a calculator and added together a months worth of winnings from last month. All together, it came to about $50; as did the month before that, and the month before that. It didn’t seem enough for a bribery, but thinking about it long term, $50 a month meant $600 a year, and the Detective was fairly sure that not all of the money was going into the bank. In all likelihood, he would put a cut of each ‘donation’ in the bank and the rest would be hidden somewhere around the house. The man was no fool, he knew that a sudden fortune would draw suspicion. 

** **

That would seem to suggest that the target would leave wherever the poker game was that week and would pick up the money on the way home. A quick search revealed the addresses of each of the regular participants in these games and Tinsley has spread a huge map on his table, marking each address with a pin. From there, he marked each possible route back to the target’s house from each friend’s house, marking them in a specific colour pencil. There must be one place where each colour crossed and  _ that  _ was where the payment was taking place. 

** **

Tinsley smiled to himself. Sure enough, right in the middle of all of the homes was an old storage unit that he could have passed, no matter where the games had taken place. He made a note of this, circling it in pen. Finally leaning back in his chair, Tinsley surveyed the spidery map of string and faces that he had grown with a look of satisfaction. The pot of coffee was long empty, and the digital clock on the bedside table read 4:46, meaning that he had pretty much been at it for a solid 6 hours and had once again forgot to eat anything all day. An angry growl escaped his gut and Tinsley decided that he could not be bothered to make anything to eat now, especially with what little was stored in his fridge. Grabbing his phone, he messaged Ricky to ask if he could meet up for something to eat. 

** **

\---------------------------------------→

** **

The first thing that Ricky noticed after being confronted by uncomfortable consciousness was the incredible dryness in his mouth. It took a few seconds for him to peel his tongue off of the roof of his mouth, and by this time the sensation had spread to his whole face. He tried desperately to force his eyes open, but immediately regretted this decision once the full force of the midday sun was searing his retinas. In shock, he threw himself over to shield his face from the assault, only to bash his head against the bedside table on his way to the floor. This sufficiently jolted him awake. An angry grunt escaped him and he finally managed to hoist himself up by using the dresser as leverage. Nausea filled his stomach and he could feel it slosh around with his movements threatening to spill up his throat and nose. Nevertheless, he shoved the cocktail down because, if there was one thing he knew, it was that Ricky Goldsworth did not throw up his alcohol. 

** **

He knew that there had to be some aspirin somewhere, but he was having trouble seeing straight enough to find it. After searching almost every drawer and cabinet, and knocking over most of his possessions in the process, he finally found a partially empty bottle and promptly threw them down his neck with a gulp of water. The previous night played through his head like a damaged tape, skipping over parts and playing them out of order. Technically, he knew that he was there because of a job and he shouldn’t really have drank so much, but that gala thing had been so inconceivably  _ boring  _ and, really, that was what Tinsley was for. Vaguely, he remembered waking up earlier, some time before the sun came up, and texting Tinsley something about ghosts. He must have fallen asleep again immediately afterwards, because the whole memory seemed hazy and uncertain. 

** **

Unlike Tinsley, Ricky had no work to do. In fact, he  _ couldn’t  _ do anything until Tinsley actually found the guy. Although, a lot of the time he let Ricky tag along on the more exciting aspects of detecting, but at this stage he was pretty sure that the Tinman would spend his whole day on his computer hidden away indoors. The guy probably wouldn't even see sunlight until the evening, so Ricky would have to find something else to occupy his time until then. 

** **

Usually, this would entail finding some bar to reside in, but it was a little early in the day, or well, a little soon after waking up anyway. Everything tasted coarse and ashy anyway, so there really was no point. Frustrated by restlessness, he eventually decided that he was grisly enough to warrant taking his irritation out on the shooting range. Besides, from past experience, he knew that his sheer force of contempt was enough to counteract any sickness that shooting may worsen, and it was close enough to walk to. With the aspirin finally taking affect and numbing at least some of the aches that had taken root in his body, he quickly toasted and buttered a piece of bread and headed out to the street. 

** **

Even though it was certainly sunny enough to sear his eyes, the entire street seemed to be covered in a groggy fog of static haze. Going off of muscle memory alone, Ricky barely managed to make it without wandering onto the road and into oncoming traffic. Still, it was worth it when he finally entered the dimly lit lobby of the range. He quickly flashed his membership card at the sleepy teenager at the front desk and made his way into the main shooting area. Since he had slept in his clothes and lacked any kind of desire to change, he felt around and found his gun still strapped to his waist. After pulling it out, he did a quick inventory of his surroundings, as much as he could without passing out, and saw a familiar face standing at one of the targets.

** **

“Miss Horsely! Fancy seeing you here!”

** **

He greeted her with as much vigour as he could muster. She paused from her shot and looked him up and down before sighing to herself. 

** **

“I see that you enjoyed yourself last night.”

** **

Ricky gave her a smile.

** **

“Well, what can I say, it was just a great get-together” 

** **

Raising his hand, he took a shot and a bullet hole materialised on the edge of the yellow centre. The thumping in his head already felt like a pickaxe being buried in his skull over and over again, and the sound of a gunshot fit right it. 

** **

Holly raised an eyebrow.

** **

“Are you sure you should even be upright? Your shot is off.”

** **

He grit his teeth and fired off another round of shots, each one forming a perfect circle around the centre of the target. Spite, he had found, was an unexpectedly potent painkiller. At least for a split second until it took everything he had not to double over. 

** **

Holly gave him an unreadable look and turned back to her own range. 

** **

“I assume Tinsley told you everything?”

** **

Ricky grunted. 

** **

“Obviously.”

** **

He put both hands on the gun and took another shot. Holly repeating the case to him was admitting defeat, and _ that  _ was unacceptable. 

** **

“S’not like I can do anything until he’s finished anyway. It’s why I’m here. Speaking of, what are you doing here? Don’t you have a Law Firm to be overseeing?” 

** **

One of the most frustrating things about dealing with Holly was her complete lack of reactions. No matter what he said, she remained a stoic wall, processing a hundred things at once behind cold, grey eyes. Ricky suspected that was why she preferred to deal with Tinsley; when they spoke, it was completely business and devoid of emotions. The only reason Ricky could actually put up with Tinsley was because he knew that the cool exterior was only skin deep. 

** **

“It’s my day off.”

** **

The response came blunt and simple. 

** **

Both stood in silence for a while, shooting round after round. As good as Holly was, there was a clear gap in ability and, even when hungover, the thought made Ricky smile.

** **

After a while, Holly left with a curt nod farewell, presumably to do whatever she did when she wasn’t defending criminals. Come to think of it, Ricky had never considered the idea that Holly existed outside of her work; all she ever seemed to talk about was business, he didn’t even know if she ate and drank, or just topped up on oil when she ran out of gas. 

** **

He mused over the image of Holly with metal bolts and putting a petrol pump in her mouth to refuel and chucked to himself, until he felt a buzz from his pocket. Placing the gun down, he glanced at his phone to see who the message was from before stuffing the gun away and pulling on his jacket to meet Tinsley for something to eat. 

** **

\-------------------------------------------

** **

When the Detective reached Ricky’s apartment building, he was surprised by how dishevelled the other man looked. It was obvious he had slept in the clothes he was wearing, there were dark circles under his eyes like bruises and his usual slanted gait was much more exaggerated than usual, making him look like he was struggling to stay upright. Tinsley grinned smugly to himself, but wiped his face clean as soon as Ricky looked up at him because implying “I told you so” was not worth getting his ass kicked. 

** **

“Hey, Tinman, decided to come and join the living?”

** **

Tinsley gave a small laugh. 

** **

“One of us actually has to work you know.” 

** **

Ricky gave a look of mock offence. 

** **

“I was busy out training, honing my skills, y’know. Unlike you, my work is more intensive than sitting behind a computer and sifting through garbage.”

** **

The two of them began walking down the street towards the nearest café, continuing their playful argument. 

** **

“Oh, guess who I saw at the shooting range? Our favourite Lawyer! Apparently it was her day off or whatever.”

** **

Tinsley raised his eyebrows.

** **

“Oh, so did she tell you the job then?”

** **

At this, Ricky snorted indignantly. 

** **

“What?! No, I told her that I knew what the job what because you told me yesterday!”

** **

The taller man nodded knowingly. 

** **

“So are you ever going to actually find out what you’re supposed to be doing?”

** **

Ricky shot his a hostile glare before grumbling. 

** **

“I know exactly what I’m doing, son of a bitch…”

** **

Pushing open the café door, Tinsley rolled his eyes and smiled. They both walked in and ordered some coffee and food before going to sit down by the window. Neither of them noticed until they had sat down, but a light rain had begun to fall from the grey sky above and spattered onto the window outside. 

** **

“James Mill.”

** **

Tinsley murmured after a few minutes of eating. 

** **

“Hmm?”

** **

Ricky looked up at his with his mouth full. 

** **

“James Mill disappeared on the 18th of August. He was giving information to certain companies from inside the Force and still owes his last report. You need to, well...” He glanced around. “To extract the report. Normally the family would be used to encourage compliance, but since no one knows where he ran off to, there’s no way to send a ransom note.”

** **

Ricky swallowed solemnly and then pulled a face. 

** **

“Yeah… I knew that…” The Detective gave a small smile and turned his attention back to his coffee. “On another note, did you really sleep in that?” 

** **

Tinsley gestured to Ricky’s creased and messy outfit.

** **

“Yeah. There something wrong with that?”

** **

“No, but it can’t be comfortable.”

** **

“Yeah, well, with how shit I felt this morning, I guess it just blended right in.”

** **

“Once again, you didn’t have to get drunk, I absolutely refuse to pity you.”

** **

“Well good ‘cos I don’t need your fuckin’ pity, Tinman!”

** **

There was a moment of silence, until neither of them could stop themselves from chuckling. 

** **

“There really is nothing that can change you, Goldsworth.”

** **

Ricky flashed him a toothy smile. 

** **

“You wouldn’t have me any other way and you know it.”

** **

Tinsley took a sip of his coffee and sighed dramatically. 

** **

“Yeah, how did I end up here? I do wonder sometimes.” They continued the back and forth until empty cups and plates lay piled at the end of the table. “Well, anyway, I need to head out to check out some old warehouse before it gets too dark.”

** **

Tinsley sighed and went to get up, turning back at the last second. 

** **

“If you haven’t got anything else to do, feel free to tag along.”

** **

Ricky grinned and stood up to join the Detective. 

** **

“Sure, why not?” 

** **

“Thanks, you might make it less tedious.”

** **

The shorter man made a smug face, as if this was an accomplishment and, in a sense, it was. Almost all of Tinsley’s ‘friends’ were acquaintances and only known through work. As such, he tolerated their existence just long enough to maintain professionalism. The only people he actually minded were Holly Horsely (he admired her logical and business-oriented mind), Banjo McClintock (he found Banjo amusing, but truly admired the size of his dumb heart) and Ricky, who was the only one of those that Tinsley would actively seek outside of work and wanted to spend his limited spare time with. Honestly, Ricky wasn’t entirely sure why Tinsley stuck around him and put up with his antics, but he didn’t dare question it. As much as he would rather die than admit it, he had no idea how he would manage without the Detective in his life. 

** **

\---------------------------------------


End file.
